


Groupie

by trycatpennies



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/M, Underage Sex, alwaysagirl!frankie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-11
Updated: 2011-05-11
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:49:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trycatpennies/pseuds/trycatpennies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>AU in which Frankie is a 15 year old girl, and Bob is touring with My Chemical Romance, Frankie's favourite band.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Groupie

**Author's Note:**

> AU in which Frankie is a 15 year old girl, and Bob is touring with My Chemical Romance, Frankie's favourite band.

She's not the kind of girl who wants to tell people she's going to shows like this one. She's the kind of girl who makes fun of people who go to shows like this one.

She's not broadcasting her real plans for the weekend, to anyone. She tells people she's going to a club, to a hardcore show, staying home, even. She tells people to fuck off, when they ask about her plans.

She doesn't tell them that she's going home to throw on too much eyeliner and her shitkickers and a school girl skirt and go to a fucking My Chemical Romance show. Motherfuck.

It's her guilty pleasure, because unlike the hardcore bands she listens to on a day to day basis, who she loves, she does, My Chemical Romance actually, you know. Fucking say something.

So when she finds out they're playing not too far from where she is, she buys her ticket, uses her birthday money and the babysitting cash from the Peterson's to buy the bus ticket to get there, and she tells her mom she'll be back the next day, that she's heading to Julie's house to stay over. And her mom, typically, believes her.

It's almost too easy. She hops the bus late that afternoon.

The show is amazing, and she stands outside afterwards, counting bruises from the pit and feeling that rush, that awesome shiver across her spine from what she knows was an amazing show. She knows she's got nowhere to be, and she has enough money in her pocket that she figures she'll hit a club (fake ID works wonders) and maybe a diner till she has to catch the bus back home.

She looks up, and realizes that, in her distraction, she's walked most of the way around the venue and she's standing about ten yards from the gaggle of girls waiting outside the venue doors to meet the band. She rolls her eyes, a little, to herself, and pulls out a pack of smokes from her messenger bag.

She doesn't judge them, really. Most of the girls annoy her, but she wishes, somehow, that she was free enough to actually admit she liked a band that she really fucking liked. Instead, she's stuck on the other side of the parking lot, leaning against the wall, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else in the world.

She lights her smoke and takes a drag, spinning the lighter in her hand like her dad taught her, until someone snatches it from her. She turns, eyes wide, ready to verbally abuse the shit out of whoever just invaded her space, but the words die in her throat.

"Wanna give me one of those?" he asks, gesturing to her pack of smokes. She pulls one out and hands it to him, and he lights it, and then pockets her lighter in the front pocket of his jeans. She opens her mouth to ask for it back, but he makes a disgusted sound, cutting her off.

"Camels?" he breathes out, and she raises an eyebrow. "This is a chick smoke."

"Fuck you," she says, the heat in her voice surprising even her, and he looks sideways at her, smiling a little.

"I'm Bob," he says, and he takes another drag of the smoke and she sighs.

"Yeah. I'm Frankie," she finishes her smoke and drops it to the ground. "Can I have my lighter back?"

He reaches down, touching his belt buckle, grinning and taking another drag before smiling.

"You can if you come get it."

Frankie looks at him, a little disbelieving.

"I'm only-"

"Don't want to hear it."

He drops his cigarette, half smoked, and puts it out with his heel. He looks at her, tucking his hands into his hoodie pocket and waiting.

"Yeah," she says, finally. "Yeah."

He writes down the hotel address on a paper he pulls from his pocket and then walks away without a word, and she stares at the paper in her hand, a little pissed off, a little in awe and more than a little horny.

She knows that on some level that's exactly what all those girls falling over themselves for autographs want, but she also knows that if she fucks him, she's getting used.

She can't really bring herself to care all that much.

It's not like it's her first time, but it's not like she's a slut. She doesn't fuck random guys.

She might fuck random rock stars, though.

She waits, smokes cigarettes and drinks her bottle of water until the band leaves. The bus pulls out of the parking lot and the girls disperse, talking excitedly an still laughing.

She feels like a vampire, watching them from shadows. It's lame, but it's the only thing she can really compare it to.

She gets in a cab and gives the address, and she knows that's when she's made up her mind, because she'd never waste that much cab fare on something that she wasn't planning on following through on. Plus, she's stubborn as fuck.

She knocks on his room door and waits, fiddling with the strap of her bag and tapping her feet, and shit, wondering if her makeup is still ok, and when did she become that girl.

He opens the door, and looks totally unsurprised to see her. It pisses her off for about a second, but then he smiles, and lets her in. It's dark in the room; the only light is the bedside one, and the TV is on mute. He hands her a beer before he closes the door behind her. He's the only one in the room, but there are two beds, and she sits on the far one, dropping her bag before opening and taking a deep swig of the beer and then wincing. She doesn't really drink. It's not her thing, but.

She could definitely stand to be drunker.

He pulls out his phone and fiddles with it, sending a few texts from what she can tell, and letting her get most of the way into her beer. She's not a heavy drinker, and she's tiny, so by the time the beer is done and he's sitting next to her on the bed, she's already feeling past buzzed and into drunk.

He pulls at the zipper of her hoodie and she hesitates a second before shrugging out of it. But she knows why she's here. She pulls her shirt over her head and then opens her mouth when he kisses her, tasting like her cigarettes and his beer. He kisses her like he doesn't care if she can't breathe, like he doesn't care if it's too much, and it is, god, but it's so not.

When he pulls back, she's clutching at his clothes, the tops of her thighs sticky already, and when she licks her lips, they're swollen. She pulls off her bra and he smiles, not nicely at all, and palms one of her tits, his thumb rough against her nipple when he tugs at it sharply. She moans and then cringes a little and he smiles again, that same smile, predatory and dark.

"Stand up," he says, and she does, and he looks at her, leaning back, palms on the bed spread. "Take off your panties."

She blushes but she does it, lifting one foot and then the other, and then stands, holding them awkwardly.

"What's your name?" he says. He holds out his hand and she gives him her underwear, head tilted up, defiant, even in this.

"Frankie," she says, and he nods.

"Turn around, Frankie," he says, and she does, her breath quickening. She can feel him watching her and she resists the urge to squirm, because she's feeling wetter and wetter. "Lose the boots."

Her boots are lace up and she loves them, but they're nearly her end, right now. She bends over and her skirt hikes up over her thighs, and she know he can see her, see her cunt, and he makes a little sound, appreciative.

She gets the boots off and tosses them aside before he tells her to stay where she is. She stays, bent over, and when he touches her, she feels her knees give out, nearly, because he slides two fingers into her, deep and hard, and she has to brace herself on the other bed to keep from falling over.

He fingers her, knocks her legs apart with his foot and uses his thumb on her clit, listening to her moan. When she's fucking back on his hand, he speaks again.

"How old are you?" he asks and she answers through gritted teeth, too turned on to lie, because she's starting to get the feeling it won't matter anyway.

"Fifteen," she says and she comes, her legs giving way as she shudders. She kneels on the floor, head bent against her arms on the bed, breathing hard. He chuckles behind her, not meanly, and she hears shuffling, then the unmistakable sound of a belt buckle clinking and a zipper coming down.

When she can breathe again, she turns, and he's sitting on the very edge of the bed, holding up his hand, still shiny and wet with her come and he just looks at her, a sort of expectant look on his face. She knee walks towards him and he puts his fingers in front of her mouth and again, she hesitates only a second before opening her mouth and tasting his fingers. She licks, and then he slides them into her mouth. She gags a little, because his hands are big and he's not being gentle at all, and her cunt throbs.

He pulls his fingers back out and threads his hand in her hair and she goes willingly, moving closer to him and wrapping her lips around the head of his dick.

"Don't you dare fucking bite me," he says and she looks up, the 'fuck you' clear in her eyes. She wraps her hand around the base and sinks down further, working her tongue around the head and the underside while she jerks him off. He's breathing hard and when she takes him nearly all the way in and swallows, he moans and his hips jerk up. She pulls all the way off and looks up at him.

"You can be rougher," she says, and she meets his eyes. He's watching her carefully, like he wants to make sure. But like he wants to make sure so that she won't report him to the cops. Not like he cares if she wants it or not. When she starts sucking him again he puts both hands in her hair and pulls a little harder, and he starts thrusting into her mouth, shallow strokes, the head of his cock rubbing against the top of her mouth.

He pulls back and she takes a deep breath, gasping a little. He still has his hands in her hair and he tilts her head up, so she's looking at him again.

"Get on the bed," he says, and he lets go and waits till she's standing before moving over, kneeling at the end of the bed. "Hands and knees."

She climbs onto the bed and then watches him pull a condom on, while she looks over her shoulder. When he comes up behind her, she looks back down, dropping to her elbows and holding her breath.

He palms her hip with one hand and then he's pushing in, bigger than what she's used to. He fucks all the way into her in one stroke and she moans out a little, mostly in pain. She's wet, she's soaked, still, but it's still tight, still not easy.

He pulls back out, his other hand bracketing her hip, and his hands cover most of her lower back; she's so tiny compared to him. He starts fucking her hard, then, fast and unrelenting, and he slides his hands up further, pushing her so she's a little more pinned.

"Fuck, you're tight," he says, and she moans when he thrusts in particularly viciously.

"I don't do this often," she answers, and moans again. She's close again already, and she can't decide if she just wants to fucking come or if she'd rather not give him the satisfaction.

"Touch yourself," he says, and she can't not. She slides a hand between her legs and touches her clit, shivering and clenching around him as she comes.

He fucks her through it before pulling out and she hears the condom being pulled off. She can hear the sound of his hand on his dick and then he grunts as he comes, and it hits the back of her thighs, her ass, hot and wet.

She stays where she is, but she feels the bed dip when he sits, and the shuffle of clothing. She hears her lighter go off and when she turns to look at him, he's holding it out to her, his eyes blank, pulling in a drag of the smoke.

"Thanks," he says, exhaling, and she nods.

"Yeah. You too."

The bus ride home is long and she's sticky, but not uncomfortable. She calls her mom and tells her she's gonna be home late, she's staying longer at Julie's. She turns off her phone and puts in her headphones, and scrolls to something on her iPod that she doesn't really recognize.

She doesn't realize till mostly home that she got her lighter, but she never got her underwear.


End file.
